WHAT-IFS HAUNT THE MOTHER OF SLAIN GIRL

After She Lost Custody Because of Meth Abuse, Her Daughter Died in
the Care of a Foster Mother.

PUEBLO - Ashley Lindenberger watches helplessly as her 2-year-old
daughter screams from across the street.

"Mommy, Mommy, help me!" Alize cries, but her mother can't move.

It's one of many nightmares that wake Lindenberger in the night. But
when she opens her eyes, the nightmare doesn't end: She knows she can
never help Alize. Her daughter is dead because of a chain of bad
choices that began with her own.

Lindenberger, 21, talks unflinchingly about her addiction to
methamphetamines and a sordid life that put her in prison and led the
Department of Human Services to take her daughter, Alize Vick, and
son, 16-month-old Anthoni Vick, and place them in foster care.

Lindenberger is now sober and employed, and hers might have been a
story of second chances and an eventual family reunion. But it turned
into a tale of blame, guilt and what-ifs after her daughter was
killed while in foster care.

What if she hadn't gotten caught up in a life of drugs and ended up
in prison? What if Alize hadn't been put into the home of Jules Lynn
Cuneo of Colorado Springs? What if someone had paid more attention to
suspicions that Cuneo might have been abusing Alize? What if
Lindenberger's mother, Kathleen Heil, had been able to take custody
of the kids?

And what if, on Oct. 9, 2007, Alize hadn't been severely injured -
allegedly thrown across a table by Cuneo?

It's a game Lindberger could play the rest of her life, but the fact
is, on Oct. 10, in shackles, Lindenberger said goodbye to her
braindead little girl with the toothy smile. She left with a plaster
mold made of Alize's foot for remembrance - and hopes that she can
regain custody of Anthoni after a hearing Wednesday.

As she looks to a future free of drugs and focused on family, the
young mother says she hasn't fully come to grips with the idea that
her daughter, who would have turned 3 in a month, won't share in it.
And that a system and a woman charged with protecting her child in
her absence may have done just the opposite.

A Troubled Life

Lindenberger, a shorthaired brunette who speaks softly and with
resolve, grew up in foster care because her mother, Kathleen Heil,
was a drug addict. She lived in 18 foster homes from age 3 to 16. She
was abused in a few of them, she said. In others, she lashed out
until the parents gave up hope and had her reassigned.

As a teenager she left Erie, Pa., for Colorado Springs to be with her
mother and her grandmother. At 17, a boyfriend turned her on to meth.

They broke up, and she later met and moved in with Chris Vick, who
fathered Alize and Anthoni.

At times they lived like a family. For Alize's first birthday there
was a party at Memorial Park with about two dozen friends and family
members and three birthday cakes.

Lindenberger was close with her daughter, an outgoing, independent,
smiley child who would go up to a stranger and hug a leg.

Yet, for Lindenberger, there was no parting with the drugs.

As is the case with most meth addicts, the need to get high trumped
time with her children. To stay high, Lindenberger resorted to
dealing and stealing. She stole $40,000 from her grandmother, an act
that continues to hurt their relationship.

Lindenberger seemed to spend more time in motels doing drugs than at
home, she said.

"I wasn't really home, because I was high and I didn't want her to
see me that way," Lindenberger said about Alize. "She could tell I
was high, and she would push herself away from me."

Lindenberger was high and away from home the day child welfare
workers took the kids away. It wasn't just her drug use that
Department of Human Services found. Alize's paternal grandfather, who
lived with them, was a registered sex offender, and there were too
many people living in the two-bedroom home. Those were things, she
says now, she paid little attention to since she was barely home herself.

When she heard the news from Alize's grandfather, she did more drugs.
"It's just an easy way out of everything," she said.

Prison came a month after the children were removed, no surprise for
Lindenberger. Arrested in an undercover operation, she was convicted
of fraud, theft and dealing drugs - and had most recently jumped bail.

A Turnaround

Lindenberger was sent to prison April 24, 2007.

Once there, away from her children and the drugs, she vowed to
change. By summer, she'd decided to enroll in a prison boot camp program.

"I need to do what I got to do with those kids of mine," she wrote in
a letter to her mother June 20, about the decision to sign up for the
military-style training. "I love them so much. I hate not being there
for them."

She talked about the parenting classes and her plan to do whatever
DHS demanded to get her children back.

Her intentions were tested by barking drill sergeants and grueling workouts.

One day she decided to quit. Lindenberger's drill sergeant made her
fetch pictures of her children. Forcing her to do an exercise called
the "electric chair," he demanded that she tell the children in the
photo that she quit.

She couldn't.

Every decision, she was told, should be made with the thought: Is
this something I would want my kids to see?

From Hope to Fear

Alize and Anthoni had been taken in by Cuneo through Kids Crossing, a
child-placement agency under contract with El Paso County DHS. Heil
wanted them, but her criminal background prevented it.

At first, Lindenberger was hopeful about Cuneo. When she was beaten
up for getting the kids taken away, Lindenberger said, Cuneo offered
to drive her to the hospital. Cuneo seemed nice, Lindenberger
recalled, and she was good with her own children.

When Lindenberger was sent away, Cuneo promised to write her with
regular updates. Those letters were short-lived.

But Lindenberger continued to receive letters from Heil, who saw the
children on Mondays. The letters talked about how great the children
were doing.

Something, though, seemed amiss. It was as if the letters told a
story too perfect.

"I would just start crying. I knew something was wrong with my kids," she said.

Heil had, in fact, hidden things from her daughter. She didn't tell
her daughter about the complaints she says she'd made to Kids
Crossing, such as Alize's fears of going home to Cuneo or her
comments that the woman hit her. She didn't tell her daughter that
Alize's missing tooth and marks on her body seemed, to her, unlikely
to be accidents. She wanted Lindenberger to focus on her recovery.

In a letter on July 9, Lindenberger wrote to her mother: "How's
Alize's tooth? When did she fall(?) Was it with you, because Alize is
havin more & more accidents and I want to make sure there (sic.) accidents."

Then on Oct. 9, as she sat in a drug and alcohol treatment class,
Lindenberger was summoned to an office. She thought she was in trouble.

When she saw her drill sergeant crying, she knew it wasn't about her.

Alize was in intensive care, she was told. Initially she thought
Alize might live, but when a transport was arranged for her to go the
hospital, she knew what was up. "They don't just transport prisoners
up to the hospital," she said.

Picking Up the Pieces

Lindenberger spent several more months in prison after her daughter's
death, focusing on being a good mother for Anthoni and pledging to
abandon the life that put her there.

She's gotten her GED, attended parenting classes and fulfilled other
DHS requirements she hopes will reunite her with Anthoni, but the
family that has custody is pursuing adoption.

Even if she is denied custody, she said, there's no temptation to
turn to drugs again. Occasionally she'll pass a motel where she would
get high, and the thought makes her sick, she said.

"Nothing in the world is worth a kid. Drugs, money, anything."

Lindenberger enjoys working at a Subway in Pueblo, and she is
considering computer classes to learn graphic design. Someday, she
says, she would like to get married, own a home and have more children.

Yet Alize's death permeates her life. She gets angry at Cuneo and at
DHS. She remains in "shock," she said, and hasn't fully comprehended
that she can't have another visit with her daughter.

Sundays, she and Heil laugh - and cry - over the dozens of photos of
Alize that cover the walls of their Pueblo home and fill a Dora the
Explorer photo album. They talk about the funny things Alize did one
minute, and mourn her death the next.

They try not to think about the what-ifs. Those come in the nightmares.

Letters From Prison

During her incarceration, Ashley Lindenberger sent letters to her
mother expressing her hopes of regaining custody of her two children.
Here are some excerpts:

June 20, 2007: "Well Mom, I've deced to go to bootcamp. It'll help me
get home to the babies sooner ... and mom, I need the discipline, I
need to do what I got to do with these kids of mine. I love them so
much. I hate not being there for them, mostly cuz I know they need
me, but another reason is because I don't want them to ever feel the
way I felt when I didn't have you, but I can I tell u maybe god took
u from me when I was little so you could be there for me and the kids
now. Thank you for being here for me through the hardest part of my
life. I'm going to do this ... If not for me for Alize & Anthoni, I'm
missin everything & I just want them in my arms. I know I should have
thought about that when I was (expletive) up, but . . . I was goin
through stuff I can't even explain to my own self. I hate it. I want
(to) be better for myself. I really do."

July 8: "Hey mommy! How are you? Have I told you I've been taking
parenting classes? Well I have been. I enjoy them very much so. We
are learning alot of techniques. I've been missin my kids like crazy
mommy. I want Jules to be able to bring the kids to see me. Do you
think DHS will allow them to come up here and see me? That would be cool."

Sept. 7: "I guess I never realized how much I really loved and missed
you. I mean I awlays knew I loved you guys, it's just drugs made it
so I couldn't realize the damage I was doing or makin my mind forget
how important you all are. Which brings me to a point when I can get
out mommy I just want to be around u,, Tom & "the beautiful kids."

The Case

Jules Lynn Cuneo, 34, is accused of killing 2-year-old Alize Vick.
She first told investigators she was bouncing the girl on her lap
when she fell on a coffee table. She later admitted pushing the girl
in "anger or frustration," then throwing her across a table where
Alize hit her head, according to investigators.

Cuneo is scheduled for trial July 28 on charges of first-degree
murder and child abuse causing death. She has pleaded not guilty.

Cuneo remains at the El Paso County Criminal Justice Center without
bond and could face life in prison without parole if convicted of
first-degree murder.

Alize's death was among 13 child deaths last year reviewed by the
Colorado Department of Human Services because of concerns over how
cases were handled. El Paso County DHS officials say abuse complaints
prior to Alize's death were fully investigated, but the state found
fault with the county's procedures.

Complaints the girl's grandmother made to Kids Crossing, the
child-placement agency, are being investigated by a different DHS department.